Falling Forward: A Novel

By RJ Stastny

Wes, a romantic and accomplished gay man in his forties, thinks that he has his life in order. He has been in a relationship for years, and he is confident that he knows what the future holds.

But when his partner dies suddenly, Wes finds himself falling forward into a future filled with grief, uncertainty, and untapped potential. Now Wes must fight to regain his equilibrium and build a new life in a new citywhile somehow holding on to the stability of his lost past. A robust yet disparate group of friends, lovers, and acquaintances become his guides on a new series of international escapades in which Wes finds himself uncompromisingly involved.

Falling Forward is an anthem for the positive acceptance of change in an uncertain world. Wes is now forced to acknowledge that his life is built upon little twists of fate and choices. Ultimately, Wes must decide if he is one of those brave adventurers willing to achieve the highs of finding love, even at the cost of possibly losing it.

Falling Forward is for anyone who enjoys a well thought out story, and likes to read about characters that are a delight to spend time with.
Pacific Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469783260

RJ Stastny

RJ Stastny is retired from a career in business and education that included work for the United Nations in Quito, Ecuador. He is the author of two novels, Falling Forward and The Guestbook at Asilomar. Stastny currently lives in the Chicago area with his two Golden retrievers. Visit rjsbooks.net.

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Copyright © 2012 by RJ Stastny

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4697-8325-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8327-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-8326-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012903385

Printed in the United States of America

iUniverse rev. date: 03/01/2012

Contents

Prologue

PART I:

FALLING

One:

Las Vegas, Nevada—Present Day

Two:

Los Angeles—Twelve Months Earlier

Three:

Departure/Arrival

Four:

Connecting Past and Present

PART II:

PLANNED SERENDIPITY

Five:

Settling In—Friends, Some Benefits

Six:

Anxiety in the Andes

Seven:

Dinner’s Ready

Eight:

Jesse

Nine:

Miami Reunion

Ten:

Journey to the Center of the Earth

Eleven:

Am I Home Yet?

Twelve:

Colombia—Forgive and Forget

PART III:

ASCENT

Thirteen:

Doors Close, Doors Open

Fourteen:

Flight of Fantasy

Fifteen:

Aloha

Sixteen:

Sanctuary?

Seventeen:

Bel Cielo

Eighteen:

Passing the First Test

Nineteen:

Las Vegas, Nevada—Present Day

Epilogue

For Danny

Prologue

Leaping like a jackrabbit, the topless jeep sped along a remote dirt road, and somewhere in the dark and musty Colombian jungle, it carried us against our will to a destination that we had no time to contemplate. The ropes around our waists that bound us to the seats kept us from escaping as well as from being ejected while we bounced through the darkness. The straps that bound my hands to the back of the front seat cut into my wrists as the jeep hurled from side to side. Tree branches, wet from jungle showers, raked over us, forcing us to keep our heads down. We traveled so fast that my blindfold began to slide up my forehead so that I could open my eyes, but the empty darkness brought me no further clues as to where I was or why I was there. I could only see the backs of the two men in the front, who I assumed were the men who abducted us.

Let us go, please. Don’t hurt us. Please don’t hurt us! We haven’t done anything! cried the other captive, whose identity I didn’t know. Overcome with fear, he was in a panic, sobbing and yelling. I was frightened as well, but when I tried to call out, I had no voice. Minutes earlier, I had been having a drink after work at a local tavern. Now we were captives on a hellish ride. I didn’t know why they kidnapped either one of us or what fate we were to suffer.

During the quick moments of our abduction, before we were blindfolded, I noticed the two captors were wearing muddy boots and fatigue-like pants. One wore a military-looking shirt, the other a white tank top. They said little to us. There were only a few other patrons in the bar. Perhaps accustomed to this sort violence, they offered no assistance to us. It happened so quickly we didn’t have time to resist.

Suddenly, the jeep slowed down enough that the wind no longer limited my vision or my hearing. There were moments when the bright moonlight pierced through the rainclouds that intermittently poured down on us. The guy next to me still had his blindfold on. He had stopped screaming, his head bent over as if he was passed out or frozen in fear.

I didn’t know whether the musty smell came from the jungle or from our unshaven and sweaty abductors. Sitting in front with their backs to me, I could see that both had tattoos on their necks. It looked like two letters, a D and C. I tried to listen to what they were saying. It seemed like they were arguing, but I couldn’t make out but a few words. Unfortunately, those I understood didn’t bode well for our futures: echamos de esta basura—let’s get rid of this garbage—referring to us. Suddenly, the jeep came to a complete stop. Like at the end of a wild roller coaster ride, I was glad it had ended so I could catch my breath. But I was uncertain what would happen next. My eyes were burning and my vision was blurred. They came around the back, untied my captive companion, and took him away. I sat there, still bound, listening to the jungle get oddly quiet. Boom! Boom! Boom! Three rapid shots of gunfire broke the silence, startling me so much that I pulled against the restraints so suddenly that they cut into both my wrists.

Within minutes, the two men got back in the jeep. I could only imagine the fate of my seatmate. The wild ride continued with me alone in the back seat. We traveled what seemed like a half hour, my capturers not saying a word, at least any that I could hear during that noisy race through the jungle. What struck me in what should have been a moment of terror was that I didn’t do a fast rewind of my life like many claim they have done during life-threatening experiences. Instead, I was paralyzed by curiosity. Why was this happening? There must’ve been some logical reason for me being here. Suddenly, the jeep stopped. The silence of the jungle once again dominated my senses. My kidnappers jumped out of the jeep and opened the door on my side. One of them untied my restraints and motioned for me to get out. The moonlight cast broad shadows beneath the jungle canopy. All of a sudden, one of them pointed to a path heading into the jungle and yelled, "Corre! Corre, mierda … Run! Run, you piece of crap." I started to run. I moved like I was waist-deep in pudding. I didn’t look back. Shots were fired. I felt them whiz by me and heard the ping! ping! of bullets ricocheting off the trees. I wondered if the next round would find me. I ran and ran.

PART I:

FALLING

One:

Las Vegas, Nevada—Present Day

The clock by the bed silently flashes 7:30 a.m. The early morning light pierces the sheer curtains, and a slight desert breeze makes them gently billow like a ship’s sails. The dry air and morning quiet reminds me again that I am in the desert. Having moved from LA nearly twelve months ago, I’m no longer in the clutches of urban sprawl, odd-smelling air, and a constant hum of humanity doing whatever humanity does.

For a long while, I would wake up from that nightmare sweating and breathing hard, but it’s been many months since its last visit. Now, if I’m to wake up out of breath, it will be due to the man lying next to me.

There’s a familiar sense of warmth, and a musty yet sweet smell makes me feel secure under the sheets. A year ago, the man cuddled up next to me would have been an unlikely candidate for a permanent bedmate. This handsome, strong, and passionate lover is still sound asleep, his back and firm, round butt pressing against me as if searching out warmth and protection from the unfriendly world outside. My arm is wrapped around him with my hand resting near his muscular chest. With my head cradled on the back of his neck, the smell of his moist body keeps me aroused, but I just remain still and savor the moment.

Life is good. I’m not analyzing why things happen; instead, I just want to experience and enjoy again what I have gone without for so long. I’ve always embraced change, but it was usually initiated by me. Now, my life can best be described as a blend of certainty and chance, the planned and the unpredictable. A recent series of unanticipated challenges over which I had little if any control has dramatically changed my course. My life was turned upside down. I struggled to get back up, and when I returned to vertical, the horizon was unfamiliar.

There is a tattoo on my left forearm. It contains the image of a compass with the latitude and longitude of my hometown, Chicago, in the middle. On the edge are inscribed the words Fall forward. In the past when I’ve fallen down, I’ve tried to face toward the future rather than backward into the past. While not always successful, it’s what drives me now to build something new while still preserving some of the precious things left from the past.

Above me on the bedpost hangs a gold chain with a small, round locket the size of a nickel. I reach up and grab it, trying not to wake up the sweet and gentle man lying beside me. I open it, revealing a small compass inside. It was a gift from someone who was once a stranger, intending to remind me of where I had been and, hopefully, the new direction toward which I was heading.

This story is about the people and events that carried me through a journey of loss, discovery, redemption, and love. I wasn’t looking to change myself. Rather, I was seeking an alternative view of the world, through a different lens. In this way, I hoped to redefine myself. How did I get to this place in my life—a new job, a new city, thrown back into the unfamiliar world of dating, and in bed with a man who helped me rediscover feelings I thought had been buried for good?

Here my story begins, twelve months ago.

Two:

Los Angeles—Twelve Months Earlier

I had been in Los Angeles for almost twenty years. The city had been good to me, providing exciting career opportunities, many good friends, and several boyfriends. Of course, many of my friends were lost to AIDS during that time, leaving a void that would probably never be completely filled.

I was told I looked younger than my forty-two years despite a light field of gray that invaded my short dark brown hair and trimmed goatee. As a former college swimmer, my six-foot frame was still trim and toned. I was proud of the state record I held in the one-hundred-meter butterfly, if only for that one year. I remember that even back then my chest and legs had more hair than the other guys. The coach asked one of them to help me shave once before a meet. It may have been the first time another guy shaved me, but it wouldn’t be the last. Since college I had become a gym rat, bulking up a bit and getting more definition in the places the seemed to matter to a young gay man looking for love. As a child, I always had a baby face, something I deplored but others found cute. I envied the other guys who were beginning to look like men. I secretly wished I had a scar on my face to make me look more masculine or menacing. I guess the baby face paid dividends, as getting older left me with a youthful but more masculine appearance. I still appeared more innocent than I actually was and kept my bad boy behavior—along with a few tats—under wraps. In private I could reveal a wild side that often came as a surprise to unsuspecting dates.

Born Wesley Robert Svoboda of parents with Czech ancestry, I grew up in a Czech neighborhood in Chicago’s Berwyn area. My father was a construction contractor, my mother a teacher. My father didn’t learn English until he was in elementary school. He spoke Czech only occasionally at home but would often speak it with older friends—and especially with waitresses at his favorite Czech restaurant. Both were hardworking individuals. Having struggled in the Depression years, like many parents of that generation, they worked hard to provide those things for my sister and I that weren’t available to them. I wouldn’t say we were spoiled, but we certainly didn’t want for anything. While the ethnic neighborhoods in Chicago had gone through much transformation in recent years, I treasured the fond memories of the Czech businesses that dominated the main thoroughfares of the neighborhood.

After growing up in a relatively insulated ethnic neighborhood, I was motivated to explore the world apart from the Bohemian bakeries, restaurants, and tightknit family gatherings. I was proud of my heritage but longed to get a good education and to experience the adventures that up through middle school I had only read about. I was grateful to my parents for supporting whatever path I chose. After graduating from the University of Wisconsin with the odd combination of a BA in botany and an MBA, I returned to Chicago. I took a job in a bank until I could find something related to my field of study. A year later, I accepted a full-time position with the California Department of Natural Resources working with ecologists and eco-scientists to help manage the business of preserving native plant species in the face of rapid commercial development. It was a rare opportunity to combine my love of botany with business. I had interned one summer at the Desert Studies Center in the Mojave Desert while in school. As the idea of creating state and national preserves in desert, coastal, and mountain regions was gaining both public and political support, job opportunities became more numerous, and I gladly accepted the chance to combine my interests in native plant life and business planning.

After seven years working for the state, I found opportunities to do independent consulting with firms and municipal and state agencies who wanted to do development near ecologically challenged or endangered areas. One opportunity led me to accept a mission with the United Nations in Ecuador for a year. I worked with the government in strategizing and implementing plans to minimize the impact of tourism on the environment and on native plant life, specifically. While I was only one of dozens of consultants on that project, it was rewarding to be part of such a large effort, and it afforded me the chance to live and work abroad. What resulted in being one of the great adventures in my life also proved to be an experience that would have an unexpected impact on me long after moving back to the United States.

While in Los Angeles, I had several boyfriends. Only two developed into serious, long-term relationships. The first one lasted five years. He was an outgoing Cuban who introduced me to Caribbean culture, as well as to the sexual freedoms that were emerging within the gay scene. Though we were very much in love, it was an open relationship that included three-ways and bathhouses. That such a relationship would eventually fade was almost predetermined. He later moved back to Miami to help resettle family. We remained friends, but our lives grew in different directions. I was grateful for his encouragement to realize my dream to live and work abroad. A few years later, I accepted the mission with the United Nations in Ecuador.

I was with my second partner, Kevin, for nearly ten years. Shortly after returning from Ecuador, we met at the gym, a gym that he would end up managing and owning years later. He was a short, rugged, very proud African American man a few years my junior. He was generous beyond his means and wasn’t shy about showing his intolerance for disrespectful and ignorant people. Through his eyes, I saw subtle manifestations of discrimination first hand. When we would eat out, the server would often bring the check directly to me. When making a large purchase together like a car or appliance, many salespeople would make eye contact only with me. From him I learned not to tolerate intolerance and not always to turn the other cheek.

We completed one another’s sentences and enjoyed long road trips where we could talk about anything, and anybody. We gave one another a light kiss before leaving for work and another before going to sleep. While life, at times, became routine, we never took one another for granted. We never stopped loving one another, and we fully expected to live the remainder of our lives together. How wrong we were to assume we were really in control of our destiny.

During a weekend trip to Palm Springs, where we often went to escape crowds of LA, I noticed he lacked energy and complained of aches in his legs. It was very unlike him to have aches and pains, let alone complain about them. After several weeks, he went to the doctor, assuming it was some form of arthritis. After that doctor’s visit, our lives would never be the same. X-rays revealed something suspicious in the lungs. After an unsuccessful surgery, chemo started. Nine months later, I was planning his funeral.

After Kevin’s death, I felt as though my life had been turned upside down. We had been like two trees growing together—when one was cut down, the other was bare on one side. I felt exposed, half of what I used to be. Over the years, I also had lost a number of close friends to AIDS. I felt claustrophobic from the loss and absence of too many people. I knew that I needed a change. Even though LA had been a fertile place for me professionally and socially and I was left with a small core of generous and loving friends, I felt that my life’s direction had been permanently altered. I was fortunate that by this time my consulting work and UN experience in South America had left me with some good business contacts. One of these contacts was the US Bureau of Land Management. I was offered a contract in